*


*


*

Pam

The news hit my parents like a freight train. My weak and faltering words hung in the air like a thick cloud. I looked between mom and dad to gauge their reaction, but it was as though a curtain had been pulled down, covering what was behind their unblinking eyes. Mom’s knee buckled and she caught herself grabbing the edge of the couch for support. Then, with a hand pressed to her heart she whispered mournfully, “Oh, Pammy…”

Then I watched her tears slowly unleashed from her eyes, darkening the spot they trickled on her sweater. I kept my tears at bay, ignoring the burning in the back of my eyes. Silence reigned just before dad’s broken voice sent me to my room. And that’s where I’ve been for the last hour. I was not expecting this. Well, maybe a small fragment, but definitely not what I’d just witnessed. There was no lecture, no yelling, and no reprimand of any sorts. There were only tears.

A knock on my bedrooom door startles me out of my dazed state. I shoo away the tears from my own eyes with the inside sleeve of my sweater and say, “Come in.”

The door slowly cracks open by the smallest angle and I can see my sister’s blond hair as she pokes her head inside.

“What did you do?” She whispers.

“Not now, Penny.”

“You’re never leaving your room again,” she snickers.

“Can you leave, please?”

She sees that I am very serious and her brow furrows. Despite my plea, she carefully steps inside my room and pushes the door close behind her. She leans against it and lingers, watching me with a searching expression as I sit - still a bit stunned on my bed. She opens her mouth to say something, but no words come out. Then she tries again, “Mom was crying.”

“I know, Pen,” I say and watch my affirmation set worry in her eyes. “Mom will be okay, though,” I add, trying to diffuse her sudden uneasiness.

“Dad is totally upset too,” she says.

“I know,” I say. “They are going to be okay. I promise. They are just upset with me. That’s all.” But Penny’s not convinced. So instead on dragging this conversation forward I pipe up, “Isn’t your spring dance this Friday?”

“Yeah,” she says.

I pat the spot next to me on the bed and ask her, “Did you find a dress yesterday?”

“Nah…” She shakes her head, shuffling her feet towards me. I watch her climb on the bed and tuck her feet underneath herself. She begins telling me about her trip to the Mall and how mom was soooo lame.

I chuckle.

Penny and I are very different. You would never think we’re sisters. I have curly, reddish hair, my face is round and my skin is ghostly pale. Penny, on the other hand, has fair blond hair, her eyes are crystal blue, and her face is admirably modeled. Mom named her Penelope because it means “dream weaver,” which is also the title of her favorite Gary Wright song.

After Penny’s done telling me about her disastrous trip to the mall with mom, she goes silent for a short moment before she asks what’s been on her mind all along, “Pam, what did you do? Seriously. Did mom and dad catch you making out with Jim?” She says doing her best imitation of two people kissing. “I saw him leaving when Mrs. Kane dropped me off.”

Penny is twelve. Telling her the truth would open up a huge can of worms. I run my fingers through her silky hair and say, “No, mom and dad did not catch Jim and I kissing.” I stick my tongue out to lighten the mood.

“Does Jim know what you did?”

“You know what?” I say trying to redirect our conversation. “I can take you to the mall tomorrow.”

“You probably won’t be allowed out for the next month.”

We both laugh, although, she might be right. I don’t what the future holds for me. I haven’t really stopped to think about how my life will change. I still have trouble getting the idea wrapped around my head.

Just then there‘s knock on my door. This time I know who’s on the other side. I don’t even have the chance to say anything before my mom enters and shoos Penny out. Dad also walks in after mom, looking more composed than before. He pats Penny’s head affectionately when she squeezes past him out of the room.

Mom sits next to me on the bed. I reached for a pillow and hug it close to my chest. Dad closes the door and remains perched next to it. He looks uncomfortable, and he so seldom does, it makes me feel uncomfortable.

Mom pats me on my leg and says, “Does Jim’s parents know?”

I nod. “We told them, before we told you.”

“Have you given this any thought? Do you know what this you’ll do to your future? Do you understand what you have—”

“Helene,” dad interrupts.

My mom shakes her head, looks down at her hands, taking a minute to recompose. “Pammy, I don’t think you understand the gravity of this situation.”

“I do, mom.”

“You’re only seventeen,” she mutters to herself.

Dad clears his throat and says, “Your mom and I want you to think about your options…”

Options?

“…We are not going to force you to do anything that you don’t want. But we want you to think about the consequences that will follow your choices.”

"But please,” mom chimes in. “Are you thinking of…” she lets the sentence trail off. It is as if the words are chocking her. “Thinking of…” she repeats, but still doesn’t finish her thought.

After a moment I realize what she’s trying to say. “No,” I tell her because it’s what she wanted to hear. “I’m not getting rid of it.”

It.

It is approximately the size of a grape with eyes that are fully formed, tiny earlobes, a mouth, and a nose. I didn’t know about it until two weeks ago.

My mom heaves a sign of relief. “Good.”

I don’t tell her that the thought, however, did cross my mind and it still creeps up on me every now and again. Am I an awful person for thinking this could be a way out?

“Are you sure, you’re…” Dad says gesturing awkwardly towards my midsection.

“Yes.”

“…the tests can be wrong, ya know?” He adds.

“I um…I d-did… I…” I stammer. “I w-went to the clinic.”

“The clinic?” My mom scoffs.

“I wanted to be 100% sure before we told you.”

There’s a beat of silence before my mom asks, “How far along are you? Do you know?”

“9 weeks, I think.”

“Is um….” My mom begins, but she breaks just a little. “Is everything okay with the baby?”

I nod.

She smiles. It’s the first real smile I see, but it quickly fades away.

“Your dad and I are still trying to wrap this around our heads. I can’t think straight, Pammy. You have to know t-that…” My mom’s lips begin to tremble and she breaks into heart-wrenching sobs. I do too. I don’t want this. I don’t want it.

Mom pulls me to a hug. Instead of crying separately, we cried together. I look at dad and he is crying too. I feel so guilty. This is how the news of my soon-to-be child is received. No smiles, to celebratory outings, no congratulations. This baby is received with tears, broken-hearts, and resentment.

What a way to start.

My mom pulls away and wipes the tears from my cheeks with the pad of her thumb. “Oh, Pammy,” she says.

“I think we should call it a night,” Dad says, still perched on the side of the closed door. “We’ll discuss this in the morning.”

When mom doesn’t move, dad walks up to her and helps her stand. Dad pats my head, just like he had done with Penny, and says, “Goodnight, Pammy.”

“Good night, dad.”

Dad ushers mom out the door and closes the door behind him. I lie in bed curled up in the fetal position. I know my parents feel like they failed me. I heard snippets of their conversation earlier. But they are not to blame for this. The “talk” had worked and I had listened. We used protection. We were being responsible. I don’t know why this happened.

0.01% chance.

Here is the thing. I’m your typical good kid. I have good grades. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I volunteer at the Boys and Girl club. I’m on the volleyball team and the debate team. My facebook has exactly one picture and the last time I checked my twitter account I had seven followers. But most importantly, Jim is the only guy I’ve been with. He is my first real boyfriend.

Jim and I officially met sophomore year in English literature. I had known of him before. Unlike me, Jim’s in with the popular crowd. The Halpert name is actually well known in our school. Both of Jim’s older brothers were basketball stars and received full scholarships to play college ball. And Jim’s future seems to be headed in the same direction. Or at least it was.

So, that year in English class, we sat next to each other. The class was a total drag and we found ourselves commiserating our wretched fate. As the semester rolled on, we became friends. He had the tall and handsome thing going for him, so it wasn’t long before I began seeing him as more than a friend. But I knew I was out of his league. Jim dated cheerleaders like Katie and I was, at best, Katie’s redhead stepsister.

I don’t know how it happened, honestly, but he asked me to the sophomore ball. From then on, we’ve been going steady. He is very easy-going and is, by far, the most kind-hearted person I know. My parents loved him from the beginning and supported our relationship. Jim’s parents were also very kind to me and whenever I’m at his house, they always seem happy to see me.

We talked about how after High School we were going to college in New York. I was going to apply for the graphic designing program at the Pratt institute and he was going to play ball for Syracuse, while majoring in journalism. However, our plans are now slipping from our fingers and there isn’t any quick absorbing action to get it back under control.

I turn to the other side of the bed and snatch my phone from my book bag. Five missed calls. All from Jim. My finger hovers over the send button. Just when I’m about to press it, I hear a tiny click on my window. I look out the window and see Jim standing on my backyard. He’s done this twice before. It makes me feel like I’m in one of those 80’s flick.

I jerk the window open and the May breeze seeps into my room.I just gesture for him to come up and it takes him roughly two minutes to climb up to my window. I let him in and he quickly takes a potato chip bag from the inside of his jacket.

“French onion,” he whispers.

“Thanks.” I grab for it and begin to carefully open the bag.

“How are you?” He asks. “You didn’t answer your phone, so I had to take some drastic measures,” he says and smiles.

I offer him a tight lip smile. “I don’t know how I am,” I say, and it’s the truth. I don’t really know how I feel. “How are your parents taking all this?”

“Much like yours,” he says. “Mom was crying and looking at my baby pictures before I sneaked out.”

I sit back down on the bed and he sits across from me on the floor, leaning against the wall. “After you left dad sent me to my room. They came up to talk to me. I think they had a lecture prepared, but my mom just cried again.”

Jim shifts his lanky figure, uncomfortably, and after a beat of silence he says, “I meant what I said earlier.” When I don’t say anything he adds, “I’ll support you with whatever decision you make.”

“Even if it’s a hard decision?” I ask.

Jim nods and after a beat he says, “Pam, what are you thinking about? I can see the lines on your forehead furrowing.”

I look at Jim, seating on the floor on my room, with his legs oddly coiled in front on him. His eyes are pleading to hear what’s on my mind. But how do I tell him I think what we have made is a careless mistake and I’m pondering whether I should have it taken care of.

“Look,” Jim says standing up. “We both had a rough day today. We don’t have to talk about it anymore. If you want I will—”

“I think I want to get rid of it,” I blurt out. The words leave a bitter aftertaste in my mouth.

I look at Jim and he looks as if he’d been hit in the head with a baseball. He shakes it off and says, “Oh um…My mom asked if we were thinking of that.”

“What did you tell her?” I ask. Jim’s parents are conservative Christians and the idea of ending a possible life is atrocious to them.

“I said we didn’t.”

“What do you think?” I ask.

“Pam, you have my full support on whatever you decide. I think, and please don’t get me wrong when I say this, but this is your decision to make.”

“It is a part of you too, ya know?”

Jim exhales and says, “I know. But I can’t force you to have this baby if you don’t want it.”

“It’s not that I don’t want it, Jim,” I say defensively. “I don’t think we are ready to parent someone!”

“Pam, that’s not what I meant,” he says with a bit of frustration in his tone. “I know we are not ready for this. That’s a given. But,” he says cautiously, “I feel my decision is somewhat irrelevant. I can’t ask you to get rid of the baby or keep the baby if you don’t want to. What I can do, and will do, is support you fully on whatever decision you make.”

“I...I feel…” The words are heavy on my tongue. “I feel awful for not wanting it, but when I think about it not being here I feel such a relief,” I say and a little bit of the load lift off my shoulders.

A sad smile appears on Jim’s face. He takes one step towards me and kisses the top of my head. “We don’t have to make this decision tonight.” He looks at his watch. “I should probably head home before my parents realize I’m missing.”

“Okay,” I say.

Jim bends down and this time plants a quick peck on my lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” I say.

Jim slips one foot out the window and before he leaves he says, “Goodnight, Beesly.”

“Goodnight.”

After I watch him pedal his bike down the street, lay on the bed and I take the bag of French Onion chips I had opened. I begin munching on it and I think of the baby eating it too inside of me. I think of it listening to the awful things I said today and a violent pang of guilt hits me.

Will I miss you, even though I haven’t met you?

*


*


The room is cold.

The furnishings are sparse and austere, from the grey sofa and matching chair to the iron lamps and glass-topped metal side tables. There’s no wall art and only a few decorations are found in the waiting room. Blank walls stare back at me. I actually prefer it this way. White conveys no emotion. I’m only here because of logic and logic alone will get me through the next few hours. This is, by no means, a ‘spur of the moment’ decision. I have put a lot of thought on what I’m about to do and I think it’s the only choice I have.

I approach the front desk and say, “I umm…have an appointment.”

Without lifting her eyes from the computer the woman sitting behind the desk says, “Name?”

“P-Pamela Beesly.”

She types diligently on the computer’s keyboard and says, “Are you here for a termination?”

I nod. “Y-Yes.”

She then gives me a few forms to fill out and I do it pragmatically, only giving myself a fraction of a second to answer the questions.

Diabetes? No.

Heart Disease? No.

Epilepsy? No.

Glaucoma? No.

Prescription medication? No.

Before I know it, all forms are filled out and signed. When I am about to hand her the forms back, a girl, about my age, walks out from a back room, red eyed, clutching her bag tightly against her chest. She doesn’t utter a single word and she doesn’t’ have too. The nurse who greets her on the other side of the door asks her how she’s feeling. Without meeting anyone’s gaze, the girl says, “Empty.”


The woman at the front desk gives her a tight lip smile and turns to me. “All set?”

“Umm… I-I think so,” I tell her.

She looks over the forms, front and back, and says, “The doctor will call you in soon.”

“Thanks,” I tell her.

I shuffle back to the couch on the waiting room and I sit there. The girl who came out moments before is sitting across from me. She’s still clutching her bag as if her life depended on it. A nurse walks up to her and tells her something unintelligible. She nods and for a fraction of a second she looks up and our eyes meet. I immediately feel self-conscious and look away. I focus on the white walls. Blank slate. Fresh start. New beginnings…

My stomach rumbles, but I don’t give it too much thought. I lean back in my seat, put my head back against the white wall and I stare up at the dull, fluorescent lights on the ceiling. I don’t want to think about anything at the moment. My phone vibrates in my purse and I’m a bit reluctant to answer it. But I pull it out anyways and see a text from Jim.

“Where r u? Everything ok?”

I reply with, “Call u in a few.”

It doesn’t take him long to answer, “@ work. Text.”

I put my phone away just as a nurse calls my name. “Pamela Beesly?”

Her voice is void of any emotion. It is as if she works at the DMV and I was the next in line. I put my bag over my shoulder and stand.

“Follow me this way, please.” She half smiles and I reciprocate the gesture.

She brings me to a room, which is just as white as the others. She gestures for me to have a seat.

“The doctor will be right with you.” She leaves and shuts the door behind her.

This is not an examination room. This is someone’s office space. There’s a desk, a computer, and picture frames that face away from me. Two diplomas and a few certificates hang on the wall. There’s a plant in the corner and while it looks fake, there are a few browning leaves sprinkled on the carpet around it.

The door opens and an older man, wearing a white coat, enters the room. The name, Dr. Ross, is printing just over the right side pocket.

“Hi,” he says extending his hand. “I’m Dr. Ross. And you must be Pamela,” he says.

I nod.

He walks around to his desk and sits behind it. He leafs through some papers in front of him while humming to himself. I begin to feel flustered and thoughts I’d been avoiding all morning begin to slowly surface. Although abortion is frequently talked about, no details are given about what actually happens. Even online, where I expected to find all the gory details, there was a sort of void between the moment someone finds out they are pregnant and the moment it’s all over.

Dr. Ross links his fingers in front of him and asks, “Have you given thought to other options?”

“I have,” I say. Self-assured. “This is just the most logic way to go about this situation.”

“I know you’re 17 and you don’t need parental consent, but do your parents support you on this decision?”

“They don’t know and I would like it to keep it that way,” I tell him.


“I always encourage patients undergoing an abortion to have a support system with them. Do you want to reconsider your decision?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Okay, okay. So you are 10 weeks along?” He pulls an ultrasound from my first appointment. I look away.

“Yes.”

“You might be a little further down,” he affirms, further inspecting the black and white picture. “I might need to measure the little one again.”

Little one.

I suddenly feel nauseated. My palms begin to sweat and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. I want to run, but I am paralyzed by…by what? Logic? Am I making the right decision?

“I need to make sure we chose the correct method of termination before we proceeded.”

I nod, trying to stay out of my own head.

Dr. Ross ushers me to an examination room. I begin sweating. I quickly pull out my phone from my purse and text Jim the address to the clinic and ask him to come. He said he would support me with any decision and I can’t go back. I just...can’t. He texts back a question mark and I just tell him to meet me here. I place my phone back in my bag and sit on the uncomfortable examination bed.

I try to focus on the relief I’ll feel once this is all over, but for some reason I can’t. So instead I try to think of how my life would suddenly right itself again. It would be as if I had missed an important turn along the way and my inner GPS was telling to do and U-turn and go back to the previous route - the route where I graduated High School with my friends, went away to College, and earned a degree. I don’t want a detour.

Moments later the doctor enters the room wheeling an ultrasound machine. He asks me to lie down and pulls my shirt up, exposing my lower belly. He squeezes a warm gel on it and with a wand he begins to rub over my stomach. I turn away. I don’t want to see it. A nurse enters the room and they begin to utter unintelligible medical jargon about whatever is on screen. I need to focus. I can’t think about this. I’ve gone through this in my head thousands of times. This is the best solution to this situation. It’s only logical.

As I’m focusing on the medical posters on the wall, the unexpected happens. I hear a sound.

Thud Dump. Thud Dump. Thud Dump. Thud Dump.

The beat is fast paced and although I can feel my heart racing, the pounding seems too rapid to be my own heart.

“W-what’s that?” I ask, barely in control of my emotions.

“That’s the baby’s heartbeat,” the nurse tells me.

When her words register in my head, I hear the shattering stroke of my own heart because the fast thumping sounds vibrating through my ears is more than I can handle. Each strong beat feels like a punch in my gut. I look over the monitor and I see it. The head. Little arms. Legs. I see it. I see my baby.

“I ummm…I-I think I need to um….go,” I tell the doctor. My voice is on the edge of breaking. “I c-can’t be here… ” I begin sitting up. Although the wand is no longer pressing against my abdomen, I can still hear the beating in my ears. It is still fast and steady. Thud Dump. Thud Dump. Thud Dump. The sound becomes deafening, I can no longer hear the doctor’s words over the sound of the baby’s heart in my head.

I look at the Doctor and he puts his hand on my shoulder and says, “I’ll give you some privacy.” He leaves the room and the nurse follows, wheeling the ultrasound machine behind him. I wipe the gel from my belly and I burst into tears. I need to leave. This feels wrong. The heart is beating.

I walk down the hall and I don’t stop to talk to anyone. I open the door to the waiting room and the woman at the front desk utters something which I can’t understand. I don’t stop. When I’m outside I see Jim’s gray car pulling into the parking lot. As soon as he sees me, he stops, jumps out of the car, and runs in my direction. He doesn’t ask or say anything; he just pulls me into his arms.

I sob almost hysterically on his shirt. I can barely form words between each sob.

“Pam? Pam? What is going on?” I can sense him looking around, trying to conjure an explanation as to why I’m here and hysterically crying. “Pam….”

“I-I,” I stutter.

Jim cups my cheeks and forces me to look up at him. When my eyes lock with his I see a shiny film covering his eyes. “What is this place, Pam? What happened?”

I see him reading the sign at the front of the clinic. The cogs in his head begin to turn - turning, turning, and turning…until he finally gets it. He pulls away slightly, looks at me from head to toe and pulls me in a tight hug. “Oh, Pam,” he says. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t,” I say. “The h-heart, Jim…It w-was b-beating…it’s beating.”

“Y-You didn’t?”

I shake my head.

Jim exhales and kisses my hair. He doesn’t say or ask anything more. He just keeps his arms around me.



Making that U-turn suddenly doesn’t feel right any longer. I know that stopping that little heart from beating will eventually prevent my own heart from doing the same. My inner GPS is currently recalculating and it scares me. I will try to do what I can to make sure I don’t deviate from my final destination, even if I have to take a different route. Even if I have to render this little heart inside me to better parents that won’t try to hurt it like I almost did.

*


*



2 years later…


Life for me has changed considerably from the course I had originally set on. Granted, life takes you places you really didn't think you would ever go. But I never thought my life would shift so much from the route I anticipated taking. I understand the detour was my fault, but it still left me anxious and unsure of what to do next.

Finding out I was pregnant at 17 was shocking, to say the least. I felt so overwhelmed and so ashamed that my mind began conjuring ways to remedy the situation. Awful ideas filled my head and I decided to terminate my pregnancy. Just thinking about it now makes my stomach churn with guilt. But at the time I was drowning in self-reproach and that seemed like my only way out.

Turned out I couldn’t go through with it. I heard the heart beating and it changed everything for me. I guess in theory I understood there was a baby inside of me, but I never actually considered it living until I heard the fast paced rhythm of its little heart. If I close my eyes and listen carefully I can still hear it thumping in my ears. Thump-Dump-Thump-Dump.

I would love to say that things got better afterwards, but they didn’t. Jim became skeptical and literally hovered over me the entire summer. Not only that, but when school started in September, rumors spread about me like wildfire. Some said I had cheated on Jim and that he was not the father, others said I got pregnant just to keep him around, while a few doubted that I was even pregnant! It was awful. I tried not to focus on what people were saying too much because there was this tiny person growing inside of me that was my job to protect.

It was around that time I began looking into adoption. It was a given that Jim and I couldn’t raise a child. My parents, were hesitant at first, but later thought it was a good decision. However, Jim’s parents, including Jim (although he didn’t go against it at first), were opposed to the idea wholeheartedly.

“You want to do what?” Gerry said aghast.

“We want to give the baby up for adoption,” I said, wobbly on my knees.

“You don’t want the baby?” Betsy asked.

I looked at Jim and he looked at me and I saw a glimpse of sadness in his eyes.

“Of course I do.” And I did. I loved Jim and in turn, I loved this baby so much that it hurt. I wanted it to have everything we couldn’t give. “But we don’t have the means to raise it,” I added with tears in my eyes.

“A grandchild on mine can’t be brought up by strangers,” Betsy said.

“They won’t be strangers, per se. We get to choose them,” I said, trying but failing to smooth the situation. “You can meet them too if you want.”

Betsy looked as if she’d been trampled over by an angry mob. “Jim, is this what you want?”

Jim facial expression fell. Although he hadn’t told me, I knew how he felt about adoption. “I want what’s best for the baby,” he said calm and composed. “And Pam’s right. We don’t have the means to raise it,” he said, as if he’d been rehearsing it in his head.

So, with somewhat of our parent’s approval, we began looking into potential adoptive parents. We met with a few of them and it took us sometime, but we settled on a loving couple. It was a very hard to think about handing away half of me. I knew it was the right decision, but with every movement I felt, every flutter, and every kick…a part of me died. And I knew once that part of me was completely gone, I would never be fully functional again.

But one day, during an ultrasound something happened that initiated a cascade of events that would eventually lead me where I am.

It was a pretty routine ultrasound. I was lying on the hospital bed as the doctor navigated the wand over my burgeoning belly. Jim was leaning against the wall with his eyes fixed on the screen. The doctor was measuring the baby’s head, the spine, and examining all the typical things they do with each visit. He approximated the baby’s weight at 4 pounds 8 ounces.

“Everything looks good, Pam.”

“That’s good to hear,” I said.

The doctor quickly went over what I should be experiencing in the next few weeks and how to deal with the aches and pains that comes with the last trimester. I asked him if I could have an extra report (for the adoptive parents) and he said he would print two out for me. Before he left he said, “Do you guys have any questions?”

Jim, who had been blending with the wall this whole time, piped up from his corner, “I know she’s due in March, but is there a possibility the baby could come before?”

The doctor saw worry etched on Jim’s face and beamed his kindest smile for him. “So far, everything seems to be going according to plan,” the doctor said, “Don’t worry about that just yet. She’s not coming out anytime soon.”

Jim frowned his brow and asked, “She?” I hadn’t caught the slip up until Jim asked again, “Did you say she?”

“I didn’t...I was talking about…” The doctor bit his lip, knowing what he had just done. “I’m sorry.” He looked like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“A little girl,” Jim said, a bit disoriented, looking at the doctor with this dreamlike expression on his face. “We’re having a little girl,” he repeated, then exclaimed with a bit more confidence. “We are having a little girl!”

A deep rooted pain stabbed my heart at the site of Jim’s overwhelming reaction, which will forever be etched in my mind. The thought that our baby was never going to be able to call him dad sliced right through me. I wanted her so much that day that it hurt. But I had convinced myself that it would be selfish to keep her. I had made a mistake, she didn’t. She deserved parents who would be there for her and who would fulfill her needs.

“I’m so sorry,” the doctor apologized for a second time. “I hope you guys aren’t mad at me.”

Before I had a chance to say anything, Jim answered, “We are not mad,” he said, “How could we be mad?” Then he looked at me with glossy eyes and whispered, “Pam, we’re having a little girl!”

After that fateful ultrasound, Jim began slowly distancing himself from me. The bigger my belly grew, the further we grew apart. Looking back, he wasn’t detaching himself from me, but from the baby. He knew he was getting attached to her and it would be impossible to give her away if he got any closer - if he felt a little foot nudging his hand. At the time I welcomed the space between us. While he was around, I had an enormous urge to keep her, but when he wasn’t I didn’t question my decision to give her up.

Although Jim tried to keep his distance and his feelings buried, anyone within a 25 mile radius knew his was struggling with my decision. I tried talking to him, but he kept his promise to support me. I don’t know why it caught me by surprise when he finally burst. I knew it was coming, but I just didn’t think it would happen the way it did. It happened when we were making arrangements with our adoption counselor and the adoptive parents on how the “exchange” would go. I knew if I held the baby and looked at her little face my resolve would crumble and I would never be able to let her go. Ever. I made the decision to not see or holder her. When I made my point clear, I felt Jim begin to slowly boil next to me.

“So, you don’t want any contact with the baby?” The adoption counselor asked.

“I rather I didn’t,” I told her.

Jim released a bitter chuckle and I could literally see steam coming out of his ears. His reaction didn’t go unnoticed by the adoptive parents, who eyed at each other nervously.

“Pam, in my experience, it is sometimes better to have a moment of closure. I think you should reconsider, the counselor said gently.

“No, I can’t—” And as soon as I said this, Jim erupted, gushing hot lava all over the place.

“You don’t want to see her? Touch her? Nothing?” He asked me, his eyes boiling with rage. “You’re not one bit curious what your daughter looks like?” He shook his head. “You know, just because you won’t see her, doesn’t mean she will suddenly disappear.”

“Jim, it’s Pam’s choice not to see her, but it doesn’t mean you can’t,” the counselor said.

“You can hold her as much as you want,” the adoptive mom kindly added.

“I will hold my daughter,” Jim said curtly. He stood up and began pacing the room. “It is wrong to want her? I know I’m a stupid teenager and all, but I do. I want her. There, I said it. Write it down on all those papers that we’ve been signing that her dad wanted her.”

The counselor and the adoptive parents were struck with silence. What could they say? The most beautiful words strung into elaborate sentences wouldn’t comfort his heart.

“Can I have a moment with Jim, please??” I asked meekly.

Without uttering another word, the adoptive parents and the counselor, stood up, and excused themselves leaving Jim and I alone. Jim couldn’t even look at me. He leaned his forehead against the wall and balled his fist at his sides. I had never seen him so…crushed.

Running a hand over my belly, I said, “I named her.” He slowly turned my direction and held my gaze. “Cecelia Marie,” I revealed. “Cecelia after my grandmother and Marie after yours. She will have a piece of us wherever she goes.” Tears agglomerated in the back of my eyes. “I want her too. I want to see her. I want to hold her. Do you think it’s easy for me, carrying her, feeling her move knowing I’m going to have to give her away?” I wiped my face with my shirt sleeve and continued. “I love her so much Jim that I’m willing to suffer for the rest of my life so she could have everything we can’t give her.”

Jim shuffle his feet toward me and kneeled down in front on me. He then placed his hands over my belly and Cece kicked him hard. His eyes filled with tears. “She’s ours.”

“I know.”

“Look, it’s gonna be hard. But it will be even harder not thinking about her every single day of my life, wondering if she’s okay, if she’s happy.”

“She will be well taken care of, Jim. We can’t give her what they can.”

Jim wiped at his own eyes and said the words that changed our lives forever. “You are right; we can’t give her everything she needs now, but that doesn’t mean we will never be able to.”

Well, that day, in Scranton’s adoption center, Jim and I decided to keep our little girl.

Currently, Cece lives mainly with me at parent’s house. She is this amazing little girl with curly blond hair, a rosebud for a mouth, and big blue eyes. She is without a doubt the sweetest little thing I have ever known and I seriously, seriously doubt that there will ever be a time in my life in which that statement will not be true. She is as easy going as a spring breeze, as warm as a summer sunset, and as gentle as an autumn leaf falling to the ground.

Although Jim doesn’t’ technically live with us, he is pretty much here every day and most nights. He has a key and the guest bedroom is pretty much his bedroom. He works full time as a salesman at a paper company and goes to school at night. He provides everything Cece needs and is the best dad. That little girl absolutely loves him. One smile, one “da-da” from her and just like that she has him wrapped around her pinky finger.

After I had Cece, it was hard to keep up with school and take care of her. I ended up not graduating on time and missed the application deadline for the fall. So I worked as a receptionist at the same paper company Jim’s working while Cece went to daycare during the day. But I applied for the spring semester and have since started taken a couple of classes. It’s going to take me more time to get my degree, but I’ll get there.

It’s been hard, juggling school, work, and Cece. For example, trying to write an open response tonight with a one year old with an ear infection is very difficult. She wants to be held and I want nothing more than to hold my blond little babe and just cuddle away her ear infection, which I’m currently doing, but also typing my paper. I’m not even halfway done and it’s due tomorrow.

I hear the back door opening and I look at the time on the computer screen, 11:46 pm. It’s Jim. As soon as Cecelia sees him, she lifts her head from my shoulders and whimpers a little louder throwing her arms in his direction. He quietly drops his book bag on the floor, gives me a peck on my cheek, and lifts a weeping Cece off my arms.

“Still with the ear infection, uh?” He asks, nestling Cece in his arms.

“Yeah… I gave her the medicine the doctor prescribed, but it hasn’t gotten any better,” I tell him.

“Oh Cee…” he says running a soothing hand on her back.

I can see the black circles under Jim’s eyes. He is drained. Between selling paper during the day and taking classes at night, it leaves little time to do anything else.

“You can give her to me and you can go to sleep,” I offer, though, I could really use a few minutes to focus on this open response.

“I got home late yesterday and I didn’t get to see her. I will lay down upstairs with her and see if she settles.”

I won’t object to that. “Okay, but if she keeps fussing, just bring her down.” I tell him. “Oh, I went to the market and picked a few things, but I forgot to get diapers.”

“I will pick some up tomorrow,” he says and lowers Cece down to my eye level. “Say goodnight to mommy.”Cece rubs her doll face on his shirt and burrows her head on his neck. She’s not up to anything tonight.

I plant a kiss on her hair and watch as Jim ascends the stairs with Cece draped over his shoulders.

This is how most of our nights go, except Cece is not always sick. Our parents help, but they were very clear that they are not her parents. That is not to say that they don’t lend a hand when we need, they do and we couldn’t do it without them. But they don’t wake up in the middle of the night to tend to her, they don’t prepare her bottles, and they don’t stay up with her if she’s sick. And I understand completely.

All in all, Jim and I are very optimistic about our future. Things maybe though now, but it’s a walk in the park compared to the few months following Cece’s birth. Still, some days are great, others are not. Some nights we sleep, some nights we don’t. We chose this path and I’m extremely thankful we did. I couldn’t live a day on this earth without holding, kissing, and hugging my daughter. Giving her away would have been the end of my relationship with Jim and possibly the end of me. Now, it’s only the beginning.